_Ray._ You have a merry heart if you can guide it.
_Fol._ Yes faith, so, so; I laugh not at those whom I fear; I fear not
those whom I love; and I love not any whom I laugh not at. Pretty
strange humour, is't not?
_Ray._ To any one that knows you not, it is.
THE SUN'S DARLING.
The next morning Mr. Haveloc went to his estate as he had intended; and
Margaret found herself again in undisturbed possession of Ashdale. But
for fear she should enjoy her liberty too much, Hubert Gage found his
way to the house almost every morning. He knew very well that when he
could not obtain his sister's company, Margaret would not come down to
see him, if he seemed to pay a formal visit, but he always contrived to
have some message, or some piece of music, some excellent advice about
her greyhound, or other trifling passport to her presence; and when
Elizabeth did go with him, it was very easy to loiter the whole morning
there; that is to say, from a little before luncheon to a little before
dinner.
Mr. Grey's only idea on the subject was, that Hubert Gage was a very
fine young man, and very attentive to his sister.
Captain Gage was more clear-sighted; he told Elizabeth that Hubert
seemed to have taken a fancy to Margaret; that she was a very nice
little girl, well born and handsome; that he understood she had ten
thousand pounds for her fortune, and it was very likely that Mr. Grey
would leave her something very considerable; so that a younger son, as
Hubert was, would have reason to think himself very well off if he could
win her. That they were a couple of children, and that it was quite a
consideration for the future. He should get him afloat again as soon
he could, and if he came back in the same mind with regard to Margaret,
then they would see about it.
Just at this time, the stability of his attachment was put to a slight
test.
When he first returned home, his father wrote to his brother George who
was with his regiment in Ireland, urging him to obtain leave of absence,
that he might come over and see his brother. Captain Gage thus counted
on having two of his sons at home together, for he was very much
attached to his children, and nothing gave him greater satisfaction than
to have them about him.
Now George Gage liked his brother very much, and would have had no
objection to pay his father a visit, but it happened that a
steeple-chase, in which he was deeply interested, was coming off at that
time, so he wrote to say that he could not get leave of absence, which
was so far true that he had never applied for it; but strongly
recommended Hubert to take the trouble of crossing over to see him,
holding out many inducements to that effect; the most powerful of which
was the steeple-chase.
Captain Gage, who had passed his life in the delusion that it was
impossible for a gentleman to swerve by a hair's breadth from the truth,
firmly believed his son's statement, and advised Hubert to set off at
once for Ireland. It was provoking enough, he said, that George could
not get leave at present, but since there was a way for them to meet,
why the best thing was to avail himself of it without delay.
He was very glad, he said to Elizabeth, to find by George's letter, how
very anxious he was to have Hubert with him; for there was nothing so
delightful as to see the members of a family attached to each other.
Elizabeth acceded to this remark, although she had not as firm a
persuasion of her brother's warmth of feeling as her father had.
So Hubert set off in a day or two; after having called at Ashdale to
take what he intended to be a very impressive farewell of Margaret; but
it so happened that the antics of her Italian greyhound, which had
become entangled in its silver chain, amused them both so highly, that
they spent the whole time in laughing, so that when he rose to go, it
was as much as he could manage to make his adieux intelligible.
Mrs. Somerton and her youngest daughter had returned to the vicarage,
where they spent that part of the year which was not passed in visiting
among their relatives and friends. The eldest daughter had been invited
by an aunt to spend the season in London, and Blanche took up her abode
in the retired village of Ashdale with very decided feelings of
discontent and mortification.
Now I am sorry to say that Blanche Somerton, although very pretty, was
not very good. She was rather tall, and slightly made, with very small
head, hands, and feet. Her complexion was delicately pale, and her face
like a child's with bright black eyes, a short nose, and a pretty mouth
always half open and displaying a set of small and pearly teeth. But as
a set off to these attractions, she hardly ever told the truth, even in
the veriest trifles. She would tell a falsehood about the colour of a
ribbon, and would say that a friend wore a white dress, simply because
it happened to be green. Sometimes these mistakes assumed a more serious
character, but if she was found out in any of them she merely laughed.
They were very poor. Her mother was always embarrassed in money matters,
and although she had recourse to many contrivances to eke out her small
income, they were insufficient to keep her out of debt. Had it not been
for Mr. Warde's frequent kindness, I really believe the poor woman would
have found her way to a prison. Their's was bitter poverty; far more
bitter and hard to bear than the physical poverty of the poor. Their's
was the constant effort at maintaining an appearance among their
friends, almost all of whom were in a condition of life superior to
their own. The wearing anxiety of heavy and increasing debts, and the
dread lest the fact should become known, and prevent the girls from
settling. She had applied so often and drawn so largely upon Mr. Warde,
that she could not reasonably expect that he would do much more to
assist her. She was again in debt, yet she continued to order at every
house, where she had any credit left, all sorts of finery for herself
and her daughters, in the hope that it might facilitate their
establishment. She thought under these circumstances that it would be
advisable for Blanche to marry Hubert Gage. He was a second son, and a
Lieutenant in the Navy. These were not agreeable facts, but she took it
for granted he would be made a Commander in a year or two, and then he
might afford to marry if his father chose to "behave handsomely;" a
comprehensive term, which seems to mean, a behaviour as opposed as
possible to what you have any right to expect.
But although Mrs. Somerton sketched out a plan of action with great ease
and rapidity, it was necessary that she should engage her daughter to
carry it out, or her trouble would be in vain. These cabinet councils
were seldom of a very placid character. It was, perhaps, natural that
poverty should have embittered Mrs. Somerton's temper--it was never very
even--and at this period it might be aptly described by the word
fractious. One of Blanche's greatest faults was, that she would never
submit in silence to her mother's peevish remonstrances, although they
seldom made her angry; she either laughed, or turned them into ridicule.
Mrs. Somerton now stated the case to her daughter as strongly as she
could, reproached her with being still single, reminded her that sailors
were very easily attracted, and urged her to lose no time in supplanting
Margaret, who she said must be a shockingly forward little creature to
have made herself already the talk of the place with Hubert Gage.
Blanche was lying on the sofa reading a novel, and the only notice she
took of her mother's eloquence was to nod her head, and turn over a
page.
Mrs. Somerton naturally grew irritable and impetuous, and it was not
until she was fairly angry that her daughter threw aside the book, and
joined in the conversation.
"Yes--yes. Dear me! don't disturb yourself," said the amiable Blanche.
"I mean to detach Hubert from that pretty little doll; but I shall not
throw myself away upon a beggar, and a second son, I assure you."
"Hubert Gage is not a beggar," interposed Mrs. Somerton, "he has five
hundred a year of his own."
"The mighty sum!" exclaimed Blanche, "but I intend to have somebody
else."
"Well, let me hear who it is?"
"Do you suppose I mean to tell you?" asked Blanche, "pray let me read in
peace."
"Is it the eldest Gage? Because I can tell you he is not to be caught."
"Yes," retorted Blanche, "it is likely I should go on a pilgrimage to
Cork for the purpose of making George Gage an offer. That is so like
you!"
Mrs. Somerton was highly exasperated at this reply, and upbraided
Blanche with obstinacy and ingratitude, and want of feeling, and want of
prudence, until her exordium was interrupted by the entrance of Mr.
Warde. It was a contrast which would have struck painfully upon some
people, to see the kind old gentleman come in, quite unconscious of the
occupation of his sister and niece, engrossed with the cares of his
parish, full of some touching history of want and sorrow, which he would
sit down, and relate at full length, not believing that any one could
hear it without interest. Years ago, when Blanche was a child, she
would have cried heartily at such a recital, and have done her best to
send some relief to the sufferers; but time and bad training had done
their work. She cared less about the matter than if an accident had
happened to her spaniel, and was turning over in her mind, the trimming
she would have to her next bonnet, while she went through the proper
exclamations during her uncle's narrative.
About this time some races were held, at which all the neighbourhood
were to attend. There was a ball in the evening, and Captain Gage
desired to fill his house with company, that they might go in a party to
the race and ball. Miss Gage asked Margaret to stay with her during
these festivities, and her father sent an invitation to Mrs. Somerton
and her daughter, which was gladly accepted. Hubert Gage was on his road
home, and was bringing his brother George with him. He had obtained
leave suddenly, for he recollected the spring races, and had some
curiosity to see Margaret. It had been difficult to make Hubert talk of
any body else, and he thought if she was really very beautiful, and had
slender ancles, and a good prospect of inheriting Mr. Grey's property,
besides her own ten thousand pounds, she _might_ do for him. She was
worth looking after at any rate; and as these things can seldom be
transacted by proxy, he was forced to take the trouble of coming over to
decide upon her merits.